A Judge's Quandary
by AnalisaPh54
Summary: Scott, Johnny & Jelly find themselves in more than one situation where difficult choices need to be made. Will they make the right ones?


**A JUDGE'S QUANDARY**

The grandfather clock in the great room chimed six times. The brothers took their places at the supper table and Teresa carried in a large platter heaped with pot roast, carrots and baby potatoes. Scott partially stood to help her place it in the center of the table then sat back down and rearranged the napkin on his lap.

"Where's Murdoch?" asked Johnny, eyeballing the steaming food.

"He said he'd be home by supper time but I haven't seen him." Teresa replied. Scott and Johnny exchanged a glance. If either of them had been late to the table and not sent word ahead they would be banished to their rooms without eating even though they were grown men. They reasoned it was Murdoch's way of making up for all those missed opportunities while they were growing up.

"So now what?" Johnny asked, practically drooling. All three looked from one to the other and back again. Finally Teresa and Johnny focused on Scott. After all, being the elder, wasn't he responsible for making the decisions in Murdoch's absence?

"What are you looking at me for?" he queried, his voice a pitch higher than normal. He had served in the worst conflict in the history of the United States. He had spent nearly a year in a prison camp; hungry, cold, practically naked. And yet – even after all those horrific experiences – he was afraid of his own father. Oh, he would never admit as such – especially to Johnny. During any kind of confrontation between the two, he was always careful to put on a brave persona and emit a cool, calm temperament even though inside his stomach churned and his legs trembled, wanting to turn and run.

"You're the one in charge when pa is gone Boston. Do we eat or do we wait?" Johnny had no more said the words than Murdoch came through the front door. The three diners sighed their relief in union.

Hanging up his hat and gun belt, he walked toward the others. He was smiling broadly which made them all silently suspicious. "Eat, eat. Don't wait for me." He kissed Teresa's cheek in passing and took his place at the head of the table.

After Teresa, Johnny and Scott filled their plates, Teresa turned to Murdoch with a concerned expression on her face. "Aren't you eating?"

Murdoch, still holding that Cheshire grin on his face, sat back in his chair – fingers interlocked and resting on his belt buckle. "I'm sorry darling. I had an early supper in town. Reverend Bickwell caught me coming out of the hardware store and said he had seen a couple other members of the church board in town too and would I mind if he held an impromptu meeting over at the café. Marge's fried chicken smelled so good we just decided to eat while we talked."

The apprehensive glance between his sons did not go unnoticed. "I know . . . I know," he said, holding up his hands palms out. "I've told you boys a hundred times about being late for a meal without word but I had no way of getting you a message. My apologies."

Scott and Johnny resumed eating but remained guarded. Something was up. But for the lack of feathers on his shirt he looked like the cat that had eaten the canary.

"What did the reverend want to discuss?" asked Teresa.

"Well, you know the big church festival is coming up in a couple weeks. It's the one that draws folks from miles around and also the one that raises the most funds for the ministry. The Lancers have always been a big part of making it a success."

"I've always enjoyed the festival. I get to see friends I haven't seen in ages. And then there are the children's games and the wonderful food and the cake walk and the boxed lunch auction and the contests. I've been planning for months. Maybe this year I'll win a blue ribbon." Excitement shone all over the young woman's face.

"So," Murdoch said cheerfully, turning his attention to his sons. His attitude was beginning to worry them. Murdoch was not generally known as a warm and affectionate person toward anyone – not even his family – and it made them wonder. "How was work today?"

"Fine," they replied in unison.

"And how have you both been feeling these days? No aches or pains or . . ."

"Fine," they replied in unison.

"Sleeping well?"

"Fine," they replied in unison.

"Eating well?"

"Fine," they replied in unison. After each answer the boys exchanged a wary glance.

"Getting enough time to relax and . . ."

Before Murdoch could finish, Johnny interrupted. Holding a forkful of meat in his hand, he twisted slightly in his chair and captured his father's attention. With narrowed eyes he stated, "If you got something to say, old man, just say it." Scott almost choked on his mouthful of potatoes.

Murdoch's smile faded quickly. Everyone froze and a heavy silence fell over the table if only for an instant. Murdoch recovered quickly but his smile was not quite so broad and his tone of voice not quite as exuberant. "Well Johnny, actually there is something I need to let you and your brother know about."

"I knew it! I knew it! I knew that one way or another this conversation was going to come down to "the Lancer boys". What is it this time? Build all the booths and then dismantle them again like last year? Or how about the year before when we had to trounce . . ."

"Trounce?" Scott muttered.

"Yes. Trounce!" Johnny groused. "Trounce around to all the farms and ranches for miles around and pick up animals for the petting zoo? Or the year before that when . . . "

Murdoch scowled. "John that's quite enough. This is a fundraiser for the church. We should be more than happy to help in whatever way we can."

Johnny was on a verbal rampage and once Johnny got going it was hard to shut him up. "So tell me . . . us," he corrected, waving his knife back and forth between him and his brother. "What did you _volunteer_ us for this time?"

Scott and Teresa held each other's gaze. It was their way of not getting in the middle of the argument.

"I told the reverend," Murdoch barked, more than fed up at the moment with his youngest son's attitude, "that my sons would be more than happy to be judges."

Johnny sat back in his chair but kept his eyes on his father's. "Judges of what?" He asked skeptically.

"Judges in one of the food categories."

"Food . . . well why didn't you say so?" Johnny grinned, leaning forward with interest. Scott and Teresa remained silent. There just had to be more to it. "What kind of food? Cookies, pie, cake, candy?"

Murdoch subtly cleared his throat. "Teresa I'm still kind of hungry, now with all this talk about food, what's for dessert?" It had to be something he feared the boys would find dreadful the way he suddenly changed the subject. Teresa began to rise to get the pie from the kitchen.

"Sit down," Johnny instructed, a touch more sternly that he had meant. "No one is going anywhere until Murdoch here answers my question."

"It's not exactly a dessert." Murdoch hedged. "It's more of a . . . preserved item."

Scott looked relieved. "Oh you mean like peaches or jam?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what EXACTLY?" Johnny hissed. The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed throughout the large room. Murdoch hesitated for what seemed like hours. He knew he had been cornered and suddenly was silently questioning his better judgment at promising the reverend his sons' participation without talking to them first. Seeing no way out he swallowed hard.

"Pickles." He waited for the tirade of mixed Spanish and English Johnny used when he was upset but it never came.

"Pickles?" Johnny said with a grin. "I LOVE pickles pa. You know that. Scott, don't you like pickles?" Johnny backhanded his brother's belly lightly.

"Why yes . . . I enjoy a good pickle . . . now and then."

"Pickles!" Johnny hooted, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair. "Why were you so afraid to tell us it was pickles? Pickles!"

Murdoch shrugged. "I don't know I just thought . . . there needs to be three judges, however, in case of a tie and I haven't come up with another name yet."

"Jelly," Teresa stated. "You know how he loves pickles. He practically drives me crazy every year when I can trying to snitch some out of the barrel before they're ready and then nonchalantly strolling around the pantry door every so often in hopes of nabbing a jar. He'd be perfect!"

Murdoch smiled in relieve. He thought for a moment he might have to be the third judge and there was no way he was going to subject himself to that kind of punishment again. In the past the boys had no time for watching the judging as they were always busy elsewhere. They would certainly be in for a surprise.

The names of the judges for the festival contests were announced the following Sunday after the sermon. It caused quite a stir; the women of the congregation all smiling and turning around to nod at Scott and Johnny. As they walked with their father and Teresa toward the surrey, they were approached by females of all ages who said they looked forward to having them sample their "winning" pickles.

After the Lancers arrived back at the ranch and the brothers had changed into chore clothes, they went out into the barn together to talk to Jelly.

"We've got a problem." Scott stated, pushing his hat back to the crown of his head and putting his gloved hands on his slim hips. Johnny and Jelly exchanged a worried expression.

"What problem Boston?"

Looking back and forth between them Scott took a deep breath. "Women." he stated flatly.

Johnny roared with laughter, actually holding his belly and nearly toppling off the hay bale upon which he and Jelly sat. "Women? Well I don't know about you two but I've never had a problem with the female gender in my entire life."

"Now just wait a minute, Mr. Call Me Romeo," Jelly groused. "I'll have you know that I was quite the magnet of womenfolk in my youth and even now have to fight off the attentions of the ladies in Green River, Morro Coyo AND Spanish Wells every time I gets to one of them there towns."

"Oh yah?" Johnny replied. "Well I'll tell you one thing, Mr. I Think I'm So Hot, I don't have to _go _to them, _they_ come to me!" Johnny poked himself in the chest with his index finger for emphasis.

"Men!" Scott shouted, silencing them both and regaining their attention. "Let's be serious!" While Jelly offered his most sincere attention, Johnny just could not contain his mirth. "John!" Scott commanded in his Lieutenant Lancer voice.

"Ah, come on Scott. What's the problem? Don't you like having the female population of the surrounding areas showering their attentions on you? Enjoy it while it lasts!"

"That's my point, little brother, while it lasts! Have either of you thought about what's going to happen to us once the winner of that pickle contest is announced? _She_ will adore us forever. The losers, however. . ." Scott didn't need to finish by the sudden worried expressions spreading across Johnny and Jelly's faces.

"Oh," muttered Johnny. "Never really stopped to think . . ."

"Well now would be the time to do that thinking, both of you. And if either of you come up with a good solution," Scott dropped his voice a little, "let me know." With that he turned and walked back toward the house.

Johnny and Jelly sat side-by-side on that hay bale for a long time. Johnny reasoned that's why his father had been so reluctant to tell them about the judging. He must have known what the outcome would be – from past experience? Johnny wondered. They sat there all afternoon, neither of them coming up with a workable plan. Being it was Sunday afternoon they only had five days before the event. They would have to think fast.

PART 2

A most glorious day dawned for the festival. The sky was deep azure blue with nary a cloud to interfere. The trees were just beginning to color and the air was crisp but not too chilly. Johnny and Scott had helped set up the day before and – being part of a large crew – everything went not only well but quickly. A couple dozen women had accompanied their husbands and helped attach the various draping, bunting and banners that served as adornment.

The only thing that had bothered the Lancer men was that – when setting up the judging tables – the organizer told them that - while one table in each of the other sections would suffice -they should probably set up two tables for the pickle station. Two tables? These were six foot tables! Rather than question, however – since it was the end of the day and they were tired – they just did as they were told. Maybe because the pickle contest had three judges, three MALE judges, the committee decided to give them more room. Yes, they each silently told themselves, that _had _to be it.

"We. . .ARE. . . GOING. . .TO. . .BE. . .LATE," Teresa scolded, emphasizing each word as she called up the front staircase. "Oooooooh men!" she muttered. "And they always complain that they have to wait for us!" After a couple minutes passed she called up the stairs again. "We either leave RIGHT NOW or we don't go at all."

Teresa paced restlessly around the small foyer. Her contest entries sat waiting on the table nearby. Finally the front door opened and Jelly – looking rather dapper – walked in.

"Where is everybody?" he asked, looking into the great room. "We gotta go!"

"I know, I know, I've been _TRYING_ to hurry them along but you see what results that got me." Teresa huffed, glaring up the stairs. With her attention diverted, Jelly tiptoed over to the table and tried to sneak a finger full of frosting from one of the cakes. He was unaware that he'd been spied until a sharp slap stung the back of his hand. "DON'T YOU DARE!" The look in Teresa's eyes told the man she meant it and he quickly withdrew his finger just glad that it was still attached.

"Let's get this stuff loaded. Maybe by that time," Teresa paused and cupped her gloved hands around her mouth, "those men will be READY!"

Scott, Johnny and Murdoch had been ready ten minutes ago but they seldom had the chance to give Teresa a taste of her own medicine and stood just out of sight of the foyer trying not to giggle outright. Finally Scott squared his shoulders and straightened his jacket. Johnny and Murdoch followed suit. Enough was enough, the men thought advancing to the top of the stairs. All three of them were trying desperately not to make each other laugh.

The surrey ride to the church grounds was a quiet one. Both Scott and Murdoch had attempted to get Teresa to break into her usual chatter with no results. Under protest, Teresa had allowed Johnny and Jelly to drive the wagon with her entries but first threatened them that if ANY of her cakes or pies looked tampered with or if any of her cookies or candy were missing, there would be heck to pay.

Teresa had a temper and always found "unique" ways of revenge and so both men raised their right hands and placed their left hands over their heart vowing solemnly that nary a crumb would pass their lips. Reaching into the large wicker basket holding some of the goods, she withdrew something quickly wrapping it in a napkin before anyone could see what it was. By the shape, however, and the death grip she held it in while he helped her climb into the surrey, Johnny could tell it was a jar and hoped above hope that it was jam or preserves because Teresa's pickles had to be the worst in the county and – God forbid – if she lost none of them would ever hear the end of it.

Arriving at the church ground the Lancer men helped carry Teresa's entries from table to table finally coming to the last section. Refusing to let go of the napkin wrapped bundle, she turned her shoulder to them and said "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" They took their cue and walked away.

Teresa placed her jar among all the others. Her entry number this year was eight and she had clearly marked the jar as such before leaving home. She hadn't wanted anyone to know her number because she wanted no favoritism from the judges knowing that if she indeed won she would get enough grief from all the other ladies who had entered accusing her of the contest being "fixed". She had initially considered not entering at all for just that reason but she _knew_ her pickles were the best for miles around and wanted that blue ribbon so badly.

The tables in this section were overflowing with every kind of pickle imaginable. She slowly walked along the entire length of the display. While a couple types were easily recognized: bread & butter, hamburger chips, gherkins, watermelon and icicle, some would only be discerned by taste: sweet, German dill, half-sour, dill, spicy dill, extra sour, garlic dill, Kosher, Polish dills, and mint. And then there some varieties she had no clue about. The liquid wasn't green but of differing colors: orange (mango pickles), yellow (mustard pickles), fluorescent green (lime pickles), white (horseradish pickles), red (cinnamon pickles), brown (ginger pickles) and gold (pepperoncini pickles).

Examining a handful of jars closely Teresa couldn't even venture a guess as to what type of pickles were inside. It was only later, after being revealed at the tasting, that she would she learn they were candied pickles, Korean pickles, Texan style pickles, kimchi pickles and Asian pickles. Why there were even two small plates of pickles: fried – of all things – and Buffalo fried. She was so tempted to try a fried pickle but felt a pang of guilt knowing how harsh she had been on the men who threatened to sample her entries that she refrained. If, however, there were any left after the judging, she just might not be able to resist.

The judging finally began about mid-afternoon. The cake entries were first so that the remainder of the dessert could be given away at the cake walk. Johnny, Scott and Jelly studied the event closely so they would know what to do when it came their turn and – also – to see if they could gain any knowledge about how to handle the losers.

Teresa's chocolate cake placed second. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, Johnny leant down and whispered, "I think it should have taken the ribbon. It's my absolute favorite of any chocolate cake I've ever eaten." He then kissed her on top of the head which made her eyes sparkle and the smile return to her lips. Mrs. Hatfield's rhubarb cake came in third and Mrs. Johanson's banana cake with sarsaparilla frosting placed first. Johnny hated rhubarb and was none too fond of sarsaparilla so dismissed them quickly. He would take Teresa's chocolate cake over them any day.

The pies were judged next with Mrs. McGinty's apple cranberry crumb pie taking the blue ribbon, Mrs. Grosbeck's peach pie taking second and Miss Mahoney's maple toasted pecan pie coming in third. Miss Mahoney was the new school teacher who had just moved to town AND she could bake a good pie. Johnny made a mental note of same. Unbeknownst to him, so had Scott.

The same three women, Mrs. Whitfield, Mrs. Claremont and Mrs. Heinz, won every year with their Caramel Apple Oatmeal Cookies, Toasted Coconut White Chocolate Chunk Cookies, and Date with Candied Black Walnut Cookies respectively. Any cookies remaining after the judging were sold for two cents apiece and Johnny was always the first in line with his two-bit coin plus one cent. He waved off the offer of napkins and simply stuffed two in his mouth – in rapid succession – and the remainder in his jacket pockets.

The candy judging followed. This was Jelly's favorite category and he fingered the ten-cent coin in his shirt pocket anticipating the after-sale of two pieces for one cent. The three top winners were all fudge; Jenny Hackett for butterscotch fudge, Widow Hargis for marshmallow and white chocolate fudge, and Miss Teresa O'Brien for double chocolate fudge. Teresa squealed with joy at having been named a winner and not only a winner, but the first place blue ribbon winner at that. Johnny grabbed her in his arms and swung her around while congratulating her and Scott gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Jelly further flattered her by spending his entire ten cents on her entry.

The men skipped the jam, honey, maple syrup and preserves judging. Finding a shady patch of thick grass, they sat down and talked about strategy while eating their cookies and fudge. Each man offered Scott a cookie or piece of candy but he politely told them no – he feared it would give him an upset stomach when mixed with all those pickles and advised his little brother and Jelly to think long and hard about just that fact. However, they were enjoying their treats too much and by the time they were called as judges, most of the cookies and candy were gone. Johnny looked fine but Jelly had started turning just a little green around the gills. Now Scott had something new to worry about – Jelly either passing out or becoming ill right in the middle of the contest.

When the men got to the station, they found their two tables laden with dozens of shiny glass jars and even two small napkin-covered plates. The entries had been lined up so that no two jars of the same type of pickles where close to each other. Murdoch had graciously offered to walk a pace or two ahead of them, open the jar and fork out three samples. Scott went first followed by his brother with Jelly picking up the rear. Women were elbowing each other for a place in front of the line of spectators.

Murdoch opened the first jar – what looked to be simple bread and butter pickles. Scott smiled, picked up a sample and quickly popped it into his mouth wiping his fingers on the proffered napkin. Not bad, not great. He waited as Johnny and Jelly took their tastes before advancing to the next variety. So the judging progressed. Dills, Kosher dills, hamburger chips, gherkins, sweet pickles . . . Just when it seemed to the judges that they were all beginning to taste the same, they came to their first jar of a variety they were unfamiliar with.

Murdoch popped off the lid and took out three samples. He had learned early on not to lick his fingers and now shared Scott's napkin for such purpose.

Scott waited until all of them held this mystery morsel. The men sniffed their pickle but were careful not to show any expression – one way or the other – on their faces. Johnny and Jelly stared at Scott waiting for him to take the first bite. The reassuring smile Scott gave the crowd of onlookers at the beginning of the event had faded slightly with each new jar and he now had to force himself to even grin. He took a small bite, moved it to his back teeth with his tongue and bit down to his instantaneous regret.

The pickle was exceptionally spice or "hot" – the term Johnny preferred. Scott's eyes watered and his face flushed. A man in the crowd noticed Scott's obvious distress and ran over to get him something to drink. Scott took the icy glass of lemonade he offered and quickly downed the pale yellow liquid – not too smart an undertaking - in hindsight - on top of all the pickles he had eaten.

Scott no longer worried about Jelly being sick as he himself now fought the urge to make a mad dash to the far bushes and heave his guts out. Through sheer determination, he forced the rising bile back down his throat. A few moments later it was no longer vomiting he had to be concerned about. Not being allowed to escape by mouth, his stomach was now trying determinately to rid itself of the offending combination by another route (should we say)!

Scott stood very erect and very still. Any movement (pardon the pun!) just now was not his best option. When Murdoch opened the next jar, Johnny elbowed his brother to step forward but Scott merely forced himself to grin and suggested that Johnny take the lead with Jelly between them for a change. It was only fair not just to them but to the entrants as well. Johnny shrugged, motioned for Jelly to follow and stepped around his older brother to accept Murdoch's next offering.

Murdoch, sensing that something was amiss, furrowed his forehead and raised one eyebrow in silent questioning of his older son but Scott merely shook his head ever so slightly. Dismissing his concern, Murdoch moved right along picking up the pace slightly.

Jelly was truly enjoying himself. Scott noted that his previous pallor had subsided and the twinkle had returned to his eyes. He smacked away at those pickles like he hadn't eaten in months. It was now Johnny who began to take smaller and smaller bites, grin less often, and had to force himself to swallow. Scott moved along stiffly. He was holding his cheeks (his rear cheeks that is) so tightly together that they were beginning to cramp. He looked past the others down the table to see just how close to the end they were and cringed when he saw at least another dozen or more jars awaiting their debut.

Scott thought about how embarrassing suddenly breaking into a mad dash to the church's outhouse would be but then considered the other option which would be even more embarrassing. He tried to catch his father's eye. He wanted to suggest a short break so the judges could get something to drink and sit down in the shade for a few minutes before continuing. He knew right where he'd find his shade; under the slanted roof of the nearby privy. Murdoch simply refused to glance in his direction however. Scott made a mental note to thank him later.

The judges traded place to some degree again with Jelly now taking the lead and Johnny back in the middle. Scott saw his younger brother struggling more and more with each sample. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and upper lip and his fingers were not as steady as they usually appeared. If need be, Scott prayed that he would beat his brother to the biffy as it only had one seat.

Johnny had learned a trick however. If he made rather exaggerated movements when he "bit" into a pickle, he could raise his napkin to cover his mouth so it would look like he was wiping off his lips when, in actuality, he was spitting out the bite he had pretended to take and sneak the remainder of the pickle into his pocket. He then lowered the napkin and pretended to chew and swallow. It seemed to be fooling the crowd as no one had called him out – yet!

Finally Murdoch opened the last jar and handed out the samplings. Scott and Johnny had actually begun slowly backing away putting distance between themselves and the table while decreasing the distance between themselves and the outhouse. Jelly gave them a quizzical look but clearly didn't catch on to what they were doing. As soon as that last sample was tasted, the Lancer boys took off a dead heat. Jelly startled, looked questioningly at Murdoch, noted the reaction of the onlookers and took off after them – just as fast as his short legs could carry him.

Scott, with his long strides, beat his brother easily. He muttered a quiet thank you when he saw the outhouse was empty, jumped inside and quickly dropped the latch into place. Johnny banged on the door.

"Scott, no fair. I need to . . . I gotta . . . Oh hell!" The knocking stopped and Scott heard the thump of his little brother's boots as he ran off toward the woods.

Meanwhile a wave of murmuring and questioning voices rose from the crowd. They had expected to be given the results immediately – as in all the other categories – and didn't know what was happening. They finally hushed and all eyes focused on Murdoch. Not really knowing himself what was happening but relying on his father's intuition, he clasped his hands together and smiled.

"I guess they need a little time to talk it over. There were A LOT of entries and I'm sure they were all excellent. I would be hard pressed – even with my experience and aged wisdom – to come to a quick conclusion myself. I'm sure they will be right back." They _better_ be, he thought to himself.

PART 3

Almost ten minutes passed before all three judges came walking over the slight rise between the booth and the church. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder as though on a mission, their steps measured to match those of the next man. Stopping on the other side of the table, they glanced at each other than Scott cleared his throat.

"I apologize for our rapid departure. We wanted to distance ourselves before all you fine folks could attempt to sway our rather difficult decision." The onlookers seemed to accept his explanation, turning to nod their approval to those nearby.

'Leave it up to Boston,' Johnny thought. 'He could talk the spots right off a leopard.'

"In any event, each of us chose out three favorites to see if any of our picks were the same. Two of them were, one was not but we finally reached an agreeable compromise." Some of the crowd clapped, obviously impressed with the ability of these first-time judges to handle the situation so perfectly.

"Well speak up son. Don't keep us in suspense. If my wife pokes me in the side with her elbow one more time she'll break my rib!" An older man shouted from his place near the back of the group. Everyone laughed then quieted and returned their attention to the men before them.

Scott swallowed nervously, glancing at his co-judges for their assurance to go on. "We were happily surprised by the vast number of entries and the variety among them. Together we have chosen the following ribbon takers _BUT_ be assured that all the entries were winners in our eyes. Third place goes to number . . ." he paused to build up the anticipation "twenty-three"; second place goes to number four; and first place, first place goes to" he looked back at Johnny and Jelly. Johnny winked and Jelly looped his thumbs in his suspenders, signs of reassurance by both of them. "First place goes to number seventeen." Most of the crowd clapped, others simply hung their heads and walked away obviously disappointed. Among them was – sadly – Teresa.

"If those who hold the registration numbers we announced will come forward please and receive their ribbons." The winning contestants advanced. Scott handed out the awards and all three judges shook the entrants' hands. Glad the whole thing was over, they jointly decided they had had enough for the day. Murdoch went to find Teresa while Scott, Johnny and Jelly made their way to the vehicles.

"You suppose he figured out what happened when we took off running?" Johnny asked, resting his forearms on the top of the buckboard and laying his head down on the top one.

"I don't know and I really don't care." Scott answered. "Chalk it up to the call of nature and let that be the end – no pun intended – of it."

"The what?" Johnny asked. He didn't know what Scott had meant by "pun".

"I'll explain it to you later. I'm going to pour myself a nice tall glass of ice cold buttermilk and just relax."

"Yah, me too, except for the buttermilk – yuck!" Johnny commented, wrinkling up his nose. "What about you Jelly? What are your plans for when we get back to the ranch?"

"I dunno. I'm thinking maybe about puttering around in the barn a little, maybe mend some tack then take off my boots, sit in my favorite chair and sip on some of Teresa's good lemonade. I am kinda hungry though."

Scott winced at the mention of the lemonade and Johnny turned his head away before he said something to the old man that he shouldn't. Murdoch came walking toward them.

"Teresa wants to stay and visit with some friends. She said to leave the surrey. Ben Whipple will tie up his horse to the back of it and bring her home."

"Ben Whipple hmm," muttered Johnny. "He sure seems to be hanging around a lot lately. Something we should know about?"

"If Teresa has something to announce to us I'm sure she will do so when the time and place are appropriate. Now get in the wagon. The way you two look I'm sure you're anxious to get home. Scott, Johnny, ride in the back. Jelly can sit up with me."

Murdoch helped Jelly up into the seat then jumped up beside him while Scott and Johnny crawled in the back. Making sure everyone was seated safely, Murdoch slapped the horses with the reins and turned the team back toward the hacienda. Scott and Johnny rode in silence. Murdoch thought perhaps they had fallen asleep. They were never _this_ quiet. Jelly seemed content and so Murdoch sped the horses up just a little. He was anxious to get back to the ranch too. He needed a good stout tumbler of scotch. A couple miles up the road Johnny finally spoke.

"What's that noise?"

Jelly looked askance at Murdoch. "What noise?"

"THAT noise! Jelly, are you eating something?"

Jelly turned his left shoulder toward the outside of the surrey and pulled his jacket over something he held in the crook of his other arm. "Maybe I am and maybe I ain't. I don't reckon I sees hows it any of your business, Mr. Nosey Man."

"Jelly," Murdoch chided.

Jelly lifted his chin and stuck out his whiskers. "A man's business is a man's business and as long as it ain't aginst the law or the good book nobody else has gots a thing to say about it."

The boys looked at each other. They knew they were both thinking the exact same thing. "Come on Jelly." Scott pled. "Just tell us what you're eating and we'll leave you alone. Do you still have some of that fudge left and you don't want to share? I thought you ate it all."

Jelly tucked his chin into his chest. In a low and sorrowful voice he answered. "No, it ain't fudge and yes, I already did eat it all Mr. Inquiring Minds Want To Know." Jelly shot a side-ways glance at Murdoch hoping that – as their father – he would instruct his sons to just leave him be but oh no, Murdoch just chuckled. "If the two of you MUST know, I'm jawin' on a jar of pickles," a joint groan from the wagon bed interrupted his reply so when it ended he continued. "And from now on I'm addressing you boys as Mr. Scott Snoopy and Mr. Johnny Budinski. Now leave this poor old man alone to enjoy hisself." Except for the crunching of Jelly's pickles the remainder of the ride home was silent.

Murdoch offered to take care of the team while the others relaxed and – with such a rare offer – they more than jumped at the chance to accept.

When Scott and Johnny came down the next night to supper, they noted as extra place setting at the table.

"We expecting company?" Johnny asked, taking a sip of tequila.

"Umhm," replied Teresa. "Jelly is going to take supper with us. I thought a good home cooked meal for all three of you would be a nice way to thank you all for being such good sports yesterday." Just then the front door opened and in walked Mr. Hoskins – all spit and polished. Johnny let out a low whistle.

"Oh stop it. Can't a fella git hisself all cleaned up for a nice dinner – especially one in the presence of such a pretty young lady?" Teresa blushed.

"Here Jelly. I put you right next to me." she said, pulling the chair out a little. "I made each of you one of your favorites. For Johnny a baked ham with cherry glaze." Johnny rubbed his hands together and grinned in anticipation.

"For Jelly those creamed potatoes with fresh mushrooms." Jelly stuck his chin out and looked down his nose in typical fashion when he felt quite worthy of praise or thanks.

"For Scott garden fresh peas with that dilled butter sauce you like so much and Murdoch's favorite – peach cobbler – for dessert."

"Why thank you Teresa. You haven't made those in quite some time. I look forward to every forkful."

"You don't eat peas with a fork Boston. You eat them with a spoon. I tried eatin' 'em with a fork one time. Every time I tried to skewer one of 'em it'd skitter away clean across the table. I tell you a man could starve to death."

Scott hung his head slightly and looked up at Teresa under shielded lids. He was trying not to laugh. "Thank you Johnny. I most certainly will try to remember that from now on." Just then Murdoch backed through the swinging kitchen door – a steaming bowl in each hand.

"Remember what son?" He sat the bowls on the table.

"How to eat peas the _proper_ way." piped up Johnny.

"Oh, I see." Murdoch merely grinned and took his place.

Teresa had left the group during Johnny's dissertation and now returned with a platter of thickly sliced roasted ham under cherry glaze. Scott leaned forward and helped her place it on the table. He went to move it toward the center but Teresa stopped him.

"Oh no Scott. Not there. I have one more surprise and I want to place in the middle so everyone can reach it. The church committee was generous enough to let me take home some of the leftovers from the festival. Go ahead. You all sit down. I'll be right back."

Various comments were quietly exchanged among the diners as they took their seats and arranged their napkins. Murdoch opened the bottle of wine he had chosen earlier and poured a glass for himself and a small one for Teresa before passing the bottle to Jelly. He served himself then forwarded the bottle along to Scott. Scott was just about to fill his glass and his brother's when Teresa backed in from the kitchen. She was carrying a rather large tray covered by an equally large linen cloth.

"Now close your eyes, all of you, and no peaking . . . Johnny." she added as an afterthought.

"When have you ever caught me . . ." Suddenly recalling an occasion not so long ago when he had seen something he shouldn't have – after being warned, mind you, he reconsidered his statement. "Oh, yah. Never mind." Murdoch wondered at the furious blush that had suddenly risen on both his and Teresa's faces.

All the diners obeyed. Scott even put one hand over Johnny's eyes in jest. They all heard the tray being moved into place and then Teresa pulling out her chair to be seated. "Okay, now open them." She glanced around their faces anxious to note their surprise. Johnny just stared. Scott swallowed hard. Murdoch grinned. And then there was Jelly.

"Pickles!" He shouted, rubbing his hands together and immediately moving some to his dinner plate.

"Help yourselves!" Teresa encouraged. "I brought home all the jars you opened yesterday for the judging. All forty-six varieties. We are well supplied for a long, long, time. Enjoy!"

Of the two brothers, Johnny spoke first. "Pa, can I eat dinner in my room?"

"Yah, yah Johnny. I kind of feel like eating in my room too." echoed Scott, one hand on his stomach.

"Are you ill?" asked Murdoch, concern shadowing both his and Teresa's eyes.

"Yah, ill, that's it. I'm feelin' kind of poorly now that you mention it." Johnny complained.

"Came on awfully sudden, didn't it?" Murdoch suspected what the problem truly was and was not about to let his sons get by with their excuses after Teresa had gone to so much work.

"As you know Murdoch, sicknesses can come on just like that," Scott said, snapping his fingers. "Better to nip it in the bud. Might prevent it from becoming a full blown disease that could put the two of us out of commission for some time. And you have that new herd coming in next week. We'll be needed." Scott added quickly.

"Yah, needed." Johnny echoed. Murdoch held the gaze of both boys for an extremely lengthy period of time trying to prolong their "suffering" for as long as possible. Finally clearing his throat and furrowing his forehead he answered.

"The two of you can either behave like grown men, sit here with your family and show some respect for this meal and all the effort that went into preparing it or," he paused, studying their faces closely. "You can up to your rooms without. Your choice."

The brothers looked at each other. Almost as though they read each other's minds they stood – simultaneously – tossed their napkins on their respective chairs and bid the other diners a good night. Murdoch was stunned, especially when it came to his youngest. Johnny had to practically be dying before rejecting food. The boy ate constantly. And Scott. His Boston manners were apparently forgotten.

Murdoch saw a tear run down Teresa's cheek and reached out his fingers to wipe it away. "I'm sorry honey."

"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered.

Murdoch had never lied to her and didn't want to start now, but on the other hand he didn't want to hurt her feelings so he kind of skirted around the girl's question. "Jelly and I appreciate your efforts and look forward to enjoying this wonderful meal."

"You betcha," Jelly chorused in. "I'm hungry as a grizzly bear coming out of hibernation. Scoop me up a big helpin' of those potatoes Murdoch and don't be shy. Lay a nice thick slice of that ham a right on top of 'em."

Both Scott's and Johnny's stomachs growled as they ascended the stairs. Neither had broken for lunch and tomorrow's breakfast was still many hours off. Stopping with a hand on each of their door knobs – their bedrooms being right across the hall from each other – Johnny paused.

"You still haven't told me how you did it?

"Did what?"

"You know. How you fixed the judgin' so none of the women would be mad at us."

"I didn't _fix_ anything. If you will recall, we all had a vote. How would I have known which numbers you and Jelly would choose." Scott had raised his voice a little, angered at the fact that his own brother was accusing him of rigging the results.

Johnny rubbed his chin. "Yah, I guess you couldn't have known whose jar was whose."

"No, it was all fair and above board." Scott had dropped his voice now not wanting the conversation to carry downstairs.

"Jelly and I worked on tack all afternoon and tried to figure it out and we were just plain stumped but I gotta say this Boston, I think we got away by the skin of our teeth. What luck that all three winners were men. I didn't even know that men CANNED pickles." Johnny opened his door as did Scott but Johnny paused before entering and looked over his shoulder. "You don't reckon she'll serve pickles with breakfast, do you?"

Scott shuddered. "I hope not. I surely hope not." He shuddered again before entering his bedroom and closing the door. Johnny then entered his making sure the latch caught, shucked off his clothes and lay back on the sheet. "I hope not." He repeated softly. "I surely hope not."

THE END

The types of pickles mentioned are all taken from actual recipes and can be found by doing an internet search on the name listed.

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